


AKA Jessica Jones Is Not Getting Paid Enough For This

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [9]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Human Disaster Karen Page, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Jessica Jones is a Good Bro, Protective Jessica Jones, Sensory Deprivation, Serial Killers, Whump, this is a dumpster fire tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Prompt: I want a chaotic fic where Matt hires Jessica Jones to track Karen and Karen also hires Jessica Jones to track Matt and basically both of them are idiots.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Jessica Jones & Karen Page, Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Series: Prompts! [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334596
Comments: 28
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Notawriterjustalurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/gifts).



A vacuum always needed something to fill it, and power vacuums were no different. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had an office pool on how long it would take before some new villain showed up in Hell’s Kitchen following Fisk’s arrest. Foggy was optimistic; he thought it would take about six months, a week, and three days unless the final day fell on a Sunday. Karen guessed a more practical three months. Matt guessed a pessimistic two months.

Matt was right.

There was also an office pool on who would discover the new villain first. Matt bet on himself, obviously. Karen bet on herself. Also obviously. And Foggy? He was the tiebreaker and, quite frankly, not prepared to handle that kind of pressure. He bet on Spiderman. Neither Matt nor Karen were amused.

Imagine everyone’s shock, then, when _Foggy_ was the one to first encounter the new villain, though “encounter” was not the word Foggy would have chosen to describe the event. He slunk into the office one morning (two months and one day after Fisk’s second arrest), pale and looking as if he hadn’t slept at all, and trembling.

Matt shot to his feet. “What happened?”

“See,” Foggy said shakily, “I don’t even care if you’re picking up on my heartrate or breathing or whatever right now. _That’s_ how frazzled I am.”

Normally, Karen might’ve commented on Foggy’s use of the word “frazzled.” Instead, she steered him into the nearest chair. “Are you okay?”

“He’s bleeding,” Matt informed the room at large, already rooting through the office first aid kit. Well, they called it an office first aid kit. But it somehow kept gaining capacity for injuries more serious than papercuts. It also kept migrating into Matt’s office. So now it was pretty much Matt’s first aid kit.

“Am I still?” Foggy asked, frowning down at himself. “This is a new shirt, too.”

“Foggy!” Karen snapped, putting her face directly in front of his. “What _happened?_ ”

“New client,” Foggy said, and followed this up with semi-hysterical laughter.

“Client?” Karen echoed as Matt rolled Foggy’s sleeve up to get at the thin slit on his arm. Knife wound. Nowhere near life-threatening, but too precise to have been anything but purposeful.

“You know the, uh…the Evans murder?”

Karen nodded. “It was in the paper.”

Foggy winced as Matt applied alcohol to his cut. “And the Chavez murder?”

Karen nodded again, biting her lip. “They haven’t found a suspect.”

“And the Patel murder? And the Bennett murder?”

“Foggy,” Karen said warningly.

“You know _every_ unsolved murder in the last three weeks?” He rubbed gingerly at the three bandaids Matt had pressed over his injury. “Well, guess what? Same perpetrator. For all of them.”

Karen’s eyes flew wide. “ _All_ of them? But that’s—”

“Twenty-one,” Foggy said. “Yeah. I know.”

“That’s seven murders a week,” Karen breathed.

“Foggy.” Mat’s voice was quiet; he still hovered next to Foggy like Foggy might spontaneously develop other injuries. “How do you know this?”

Foggy twisted his hands together. “I met him.”

“What, like, for drinks?” Karen asked sarcastically while Matt gritted his teeth.

“He ambushed me in the alley behind the doughnut place. I just wanted doughnuts, you know?” Foggy’s voice went up at the end, pleading. “And I know those particular doughnuts are overpriced and I know the company isn’t local and I know they were accused of being involved with some kind of drug trade on the side—”

“That was never proven,” Karen interjected, always one to require evidence.

“—but wanting those doughnuts is not a serious enough sin to justify what happened to me! Right, Matt? There are worst sins?” He turned beseeching eyes on Matt. “I’m staring at you beseechingly.”

Matt wisely ignored the complicated theological question. “What happened to you?”

Foggy took a deep breath. “This guy—big, tall, wearing some creepy Halloween mask—he backed me up against the wall with the knife to my throat. Asked if I was Franklin Nelson.”

“He knew your name,” Karen breathed.

“I told him it’s Foggy, actually, but all he cared about was telling me he works for a guy who’s gonna need a legal defense soon. And I’m like, ‘Dude, call our office,’ and he asks for my phone. Demands it, really. And once he has my number, he says he’ll be calling about the defense. And I’m like, ‘Sorry, we only defend the innocent, not creepy stalkers in alleys,’ and he says we’ll have to make an exception or we’ll be the next unsolved murder. And then he tells me all those other murders were done by the same guy—the guy he works for.”

“And you believe him?” Matt asked, eyes flicking over Foggy’s face from behind his glasses.

“I mean…” Foggy dragged his hand through his hair. “I can’t hear heartbeats, but…yeah. I believe him.”

“And how did this happen?” Matt drifted his fingers along the edge of the cut on Foggy’s arm.

Foggy shrugged, a casual movement belied by the way his left leg jittered uncontrollably. “Parting gift. He did it right before he let me go. Like, just to prove that he could.” He lowered his voice. “Just to remind me that there’s nothing I could do to stop it.”

“That’s not true,” Karen said coldly, kneeling down in front of Foggy. “All right? Listen to me. That’s not true. We’re gonna find who did this, we’re gonna figure out if they’re telling the truth about _any_ of it, and we’re gonna stop this.”

“Whoa, no.” Foggy got to his feet and backed up, hands raised. “No. You wanna, what, investigate? Track this person down? _No_.”

Karen stood up too, hands on her hips. “Foggy—”

“Maybe you missed the part where he claims to work for a _serial killer_.”

“Who threatened you!”

“That’s what the police are for!” Foggy exhaled sharply. “I shouldn’t have even told you. Sorry, I was just freaking out, and I—”

“Shouldn’t have told us?” Matt asked, voice quiet and dangerous.

Foggy dug his phone out of his pocket. “Because I knew you’d react like this! Both of you,” he added in a mutter. “I’m calling Brett,” he announced more loudly. “And you two are _staying out of this_. Got it?”

Karen glared mutinously. Matt wasn’t exactly glaring, but the thin line of his lips told Foggy all he needed to know.

“Guys.” Foggy squeezed his phone tighter. “Please. This is…really scary, all right? A serial killer singled out our firm. I don’t want…” He bit his lip. “I don’t want either of you getting hurt because of me.”

It was probably the only thing he could’ve said that would successfully give both Matt and Karen pause. After all, it was a feeling they both related to. Deeply.

However, a pause was all he got. And a short one at that.

“I’ll look into it,” Matt said flatly, and turned on his heel, about to disappear into his apartment.

“So will I,” Karen declared, turning on _her_ heel.

Which made Matt turn right on back around. “Karen, no. You can’t be getting involved in this.”

She drew back indignantly. “Excuse me?”

Matt stepped closer, eyebrows pinched together above his glasses. “We’re talking about a serial killer here.”

Karen lifted her chin. “Yeah? And?”

Matt clearly couldn’t believe he had to spell it out for her. “And it’s _dangerous_.”

“He targeted Foggy!” she hissed. “He can’t get away with that!”

“And he won’t. I’ll fix it.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “You.”

Behind them, Foggy stared guiltily between them. “Guys, really, I’ll just call Brett…”

“You do that,” Matt and Karen said at the same time, not breaking what had turned into a fierce staring contest. Albeit, technically, a one-sided staring contest.

Meanwhile, both were biting back words that they knew would do more harm than good. Matt was resisting the temptation to ask if she remembered what happened the last time she went after a villain alone: she’d almost been murdered by Wilson Fisk for confessing to Wesley’s murder. Karen, meanwhile, was resisting the urge to ask Matt if he remembered the last time _he_ went after a villain alone: he’d almost committed murder.

“Guys!” Foggy stepped between them, making Karen blink. “It’s _okay_. I’ll call Brett. Just—don’t do anything stupid, all right? And that goes for _both_ of you. Agreed?”

Matt turned on his heel yet again, this time stalking straight into his office and disappearing inside.

“Agreed, Matt?” Foggy yelled after him. Of course, he got no response. Sighing, he turned to Karen. “Agreed?”

She flashed him an innocent smile. “I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.” And with that, she marched into _her_ office and closed the door.

Foggy realized too late that he should’ve defined “stupid.”


	2. Chapter 2

Matt and Karen remained suspicious of one another throughout the rest of the day, and Foggy was suspicious of both of them. Needless to say, all of their suspicions were justified.

However, there was little that any of them could do, short of starting another argument that would go nowhere. Matt was a little more ambitious, insofar as he occasionally wandered out of his office, ostensibly to get more coffee but obviously keeping his senses trained on Karen. However, Karen was unsure what he planned on accomplishing, since he couldn’t even see what she was feverishly researching. In truth, Matt was naively hoping that his recurring presence would help her rethink investigating the serial killer rather than leaving it to him. After all, he thought there was no real question as to who was the most qualified to deal with the current threat.

Karen, however, stubbornly ignored him. Now that she knew the same killer was responsible for the string of recent unsolved murders, she was hopeful that she’d be able to make some headway where the cops had failed. She put everything she knew about the victims and the crimes in a spreadsheet and went on the hunt for patterns.

Foggy was the one who first got up from his desk with his laptop packed up just before five-thirty. He paused in the middle of their lobby. “Hey, guys?”

Karen and Matt’s heads poked out of their respective offices like curious ground squirrels.

“Um.” Foggy felt a twinge of guilt at even considering going home when he _knew_ they were each up to something. “I’m just really tired. Kinda a long day, y’know? Not every day you get accosted by a serial killer’s henchman…anyway, I’m glad you’re both working hard, but I’m gonna head out.”

“No problem,” Matt said immediately, leaning against his doorframe.

“Watch something cheesy on Netflix,” Karen suggested helpfully, leaning against her adjacent doorframe.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Foggy glanced between the two of them. “You guys are just, uh…working?” His voice went up at the end, making him sound less like he was asking a normal question and more like he was pleading for something.

He knew they weren’t working. At least, not on any normal cases. They’d both taken Foggy’s case and were barely bothering to pretend otherwise.

But Foggy wasn’t dumb enough to think he could change their minds, so he settled for sounding worried and disapproving while privately wishing he could knock some actual sense into them.

“Yep,” Karen said innocently, while Matt nodded in agreement.

Foggy shifted his weight awkwardly, half-determined to forget going home and changing into comfy clothes and drinking alcohol with Marci while he made her watch one of his favorite overly-fluffy TV shows that she hated (she _had_ to be sympathetic; he’d been _attacked_ today). He should really camp out here. Keep an eye on his two best friends. Then, even if he couldn’t stop them from doing something stupid, he’d at least be on-hand when disaster inevitably struck. Or…close to on-hand. Or…at least not wearing sweatpants.

“Fogs.” Matt’s face softened. “We’ll be fine. Go home.”

Matt Murdock was not to be trusted at this moment. Foggy was in danger, and Foggy was uncomfortably aware that that did not do great things for Matt’s ability to make rational decisions. But he also looked so gently concerned that he reminded Foggy of how anxious Matt used to get in law school when he thought Foggy was staying out at bars too late or he found out Foggy had blown off a reading assignment. It was sweet and familiar and so much better than how careless Matt had sometimes seemed to be about all but Foggy’s basic physical safety when the Daredevil thing first came out.

So Foggy wasn’t proud of it, but he let himself be swayed by Matt’s worried puppy dog face.

“Okay, okay.” Foggy adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “I’m going. Just— _be safe_ , you two, okay? Promise me.”

“Promise,” Karen said immediately, while Matt crossed his heart over his suit jacket.

Already regretting his decision, Foggy slunk out of the office, fixing his mind on the Netflix shows awaiting him.

As soon as he was gone, Karen turned towards Matt. “You didn’t offer to walk him home? Make sure no one goes after him now that it’s getting dark?”

She didn’t think that likely; Foggy had already been attacked once today. But she was eager to have Matt out of the office so she could research in peace without him prowling around.

Matt ducked his head slightly. “I…figured I’d follow him, actually.”

Karen gaped at him. “You’re using him as _bait?_ ”

“No,” Matt retorted indignantly. “I’m just…taking advantage of the facts as we have them.”

Needless to say, Karen wasn’t buying his evasion. She narrowed her eyes. “Such as the facts that our best friend is being stalked by a serial killer, and you’re hoping to catch that serial killer in the act, which you think is more likely if you let Foggy appear to be alone. Those facts?”

Matt grimaced. “I won’t let him get hurt.”

Karen sighed, but in all honesty she couldn’t say that the idea hadn’t occurred to her as well. Rather than triangulating the serial killer’s identity and location through guesswork based on patterns from his victims, she could just…keep an eye on Foggy. That would at least lead her to the middle man, if not the actual killer.

She changed tactics. “What if _you_ get hurt?”

His lips twitched up into a crooked grin. “Why? You worried about me?”

She rolled her eyes even as her heart skipped a little. Unfortunately, the expression of derision was completely lost on him while her involuntary reaction was not.

His grin turned into a smile, small and sincere. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“You don’t know the definition of _fine_.”

“Well or healthy,” he recited. “Not sick or injured.”

She scowled at him. “Did you really—”

“Also…” He smirked. “Superior in kind, quality, or appearance.”

“You seriously memorized the definition?”

“Lawyer.” He flashed her a self-satisfied grin and leaned a little closer, almost up to her doorframe, just to enjoy the way she flushed slightly.

No, they weren’t together. No, they hadn’t even discussed the things that made their relationship fall apart; they were focusing on moving forward as friends and colleagues, perhaps to the exclusion of resolving lingering issues. But that didn’t mean they were immune from the temptation to steal a moment or two if Foggy wasn’t around.

Anyway, Karen was quickly realizing that she would not be able to dissuade Matt from shadowing Foggy. But if she couldn’t keep him from doing that, she might be able to keep him from actively seeking out the serial killer. (Unlikely, but you had to admire her optimistic tenacity.)

Clearing her throat, she changed tactics again. Time to use some of the information she’d put together. “So, have you been researching any of this guy’s victims?”

Not exactly the best way to keep a moment alive, but she had other priorities.

Matt cocked his head. “No. Why?”

“They weren’t all killed the same way. I mean, you’ve got your basic stabbing and shooting and all that, but recently he’s been…branching out. Experimenting.”

Matt folded his arms across his chest, leaning against her doorframe now instead of his, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “How so?”

“Victim number fifteen was found blindfolded.”

“Unfortunate,” Matt said expressionlessly.

“And wearing earmuffs and gloves.”

He frowned. “Okay, and…?”

“Victim number eighteen was found locked in a box. ME thought he’d been there for several days. Like some kind of…white torture.”

Matt’s eyebrows narrowed over his glasses.

“And victim number twenty? Seemed like he was going for the same kind of sensory deprivation thing, but more…violently.”

“Yeah?”

Karen bit her lip. “Matt, he cut his _ears_ off. Remember?”

Yes, Matt remembered hearing about the murder of a man with missing ears, and he remembered that the NYPD hadn’t had any suspects. Of course, he hadn’t realized that this killing was connected to any others. He hadn’t realized that a pattern was developing.

Karen touched his arm. “I’m just saying. Maybe you should let someone else take point on this one.”

“What, so Foggy can have his ears cut off instead?” Matt asked in disbelief, unable to even bring himself to suggesting that Karen might find herself subjected to that kind of torture. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You can protect Foggy,” Karen offered. “I’ll find the killer.”

Matt shook his head firmly. “You need to stay away from this.”

“You need to go make sure Foggy makes it home safe.”

He gritted his teeth. “Karen…”

“Go on!” She gave him a little push.

But Matt dug his heels into their thin office carpet. “And what are you going to be doing?”

“Research,” she answered promptly, giving nothing away.

“Here at the office?” he pressed, already planning to double back once Foggy was safe at his apartment to make sure she got back to her place without getting into any trouble.

“If necessary.”

“What—Karen, what does that even _mean?_ ”

“Don’t worry about me, worry about Foggy.” She gave him another little push. “ _Go_.”

He wanted to stay and interrogate her, or else force her to promise to stay behind locked doors until this serial killer was caught, but he knew that both of those goals would fail. In the meantime, he had Foggy to worry about.

They both did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All stories have a bit of making-this-up-as-you-go-along, I think, but this one has a LOT of that. Let's add some sensory deprivation to the mix, shall we?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's me, I promise this fic is still alive!

Foggy got home safely, and with nothing more than an unsubstantiated suspicion that Matt was following him. He _thought_ he heard some odd noises unattached to any visible person once in a while (which, after the day he’d had, almost gave him a heart attack every time), but when no one came at him with more threats or sharp weapons, he was forced to conclude that it was just Matt being an overprotective creep.

Not that Foggy was complaining about the overprotective part. He simply would have preferred it if Matt made his presence known so Foggy could stop having heart attacks.

Matt, meanwhile, didn’t leave until he heard Foggy lock his front door. (There were only two locks on the door. This struck Matt as unsatisfactory.) Only then did Matt head home, wait until it was late enough for the streetlights to flicker on outside, and put on a mask. The black mask tonight, as stealth was his priority. Then he set about tracking down the scenes of the most recent murders. If nothing else, he hoped he could pick up a consistent scent he could use to track the killer.

A decision he soon regretted. You see, unbeknownst to Matt, he and Karen were not the only ones who had discovered that one person was responsible for the recent murders. And it just so happened that two of the victims were, while they were still breathing, members of a rather elusive and very deadly gang. And this gang was not pleased.

When Matt arrived at the scene of one of the murders to find seven men armed with expensive firearms, he was surprised, but not particularly upset. They were tromping all over the crime scene, true, and making it harder to parse out individual scents, but he recognized their affiliation and just couldn’t resist.

Unfortunately, the scene was an open parking lot behind an old strip mall. No cover at all except for a few cars. The lighting wasn’t great, though, which Matt recognized thanks to the way the buzzing of the streetlights above cut in and out.

Attacking from the shadows behind one of the cars, he disarmed two before the others realized what was happening.

Then the scene exploded with gunfire.

Matt rolled under the spray of bullets straight into the middle of them, a near-suicidal tactic except for his optimism that they wouldn’t want to shoot each other. And, sure enough, the gunfire paused for a little over a second. Then the gangsters seemed to decide that taking him out was worth hurting each other. Or else they didn’t trust their fellow gangsters not to reach that conclusion first. It was the philosopher’s prisoner’s dilemma but with a twist, and the twist was Matt.

Who really should have worn his armored suit.

He’d already pinpointed the most vulnerable of his enemies, and calculated the optimal nexus between maximized vulnerability and maximized proximity, allowing him to take out one gangster before the new round of gunfire even really got going.

An instant later, pain exploded in his left arm just above his elbow. The bullet was _just_ too on-target to be considered a graze, punching through a chunk of skin and muscle.

Matt did something decidedly out-of-character: he decided to cut his losses.

He rolled behind a car (shoving aside the rising guilt as bullets meant for him destroyed more than just the paint job). He heard his enemies fanning out, clearly planning to catch him in a pincer movement, so Matt slid beneath the car, only to pop out on the other side when they closed the pincer on the space he’d left behind. He took off at a sprint, splattering blood as he went, swerving to avoid a belated third round of gunfire until he could take cover behind a building. Climbing up to the roof wasn’t as easy with the way the muscles in his left arm kept seizing up, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. And once he was on the roofs, no one alive could track him through his city.

Or so he thought.

He went home, where he fumbled his way through putting in his own stitches (he didn’t want a lecture from Claire). He tried to justify this decision by promising himself he wouldn’t go out again.

If he’d had a quarter ounce of self-awareness, he wouldn’t have been surprised when he broke that promise. The bullet wound was _basically_ a graze (it was not), and Foggy was in danger (he was, but not imminently), and other people were in danger (this was very much true), and he was the only person qualified to do something about it (he was not). And Matt Murdock did not sit still easily (this was true). So he swallowed two painkillers, gingerly pulled on his armored suit (whether this could possibly constitute “learning from his mistakes” is a matter of debate), and went back out, this time resolving not to run into anyone intent on killing him.

He ran into something worse.

A few hours later, Matt and Karen were blissfully unaware that they were on a collision course. She was pursuing a lead identified through hours of checking and cross-checking every report and scrap of an article she could dig up regarding the unsolved murders. As for Matt, he’d finally found a scent trail, and was following it semi-successfully. (Foggy, for those who may be curious, was at home with Marci, blissfully unaware of his friends’ escapades.) Matt and Karen’s respective sleuthing led them to the same place: a lovely suburban home, tucked at the end of a cul-de-sac, sheltered by a giant willow tree. Not quite the place you’d expect to be the haunt of a serial killer, maybe—but, then, the good serial killers rarely did what was expected of them.

Aside from the killing part, of course.

Matt, naturally, recognized Karen long before she recognized him. As soon as he caught her sweet scent (her natural scent mingled with green apple shampoo), he gritted his teeth in frustration. Of course, _of course_ she’d find a lead, and of course she wouldn’t bother letting him know so he could check it out first, of course she had to run off on her own and put herself in danger.

She, meanwhile, _knew_ she was making a terrible decision, but…someone threatened Foggy. That wasn’t okay. (As for why she didn’t reach out to Matt, well, that was a question she’d studiously ignored while she dressed in dark clothing and grabbed her gun and her pepper spray.)

As far as she could tell, this house wasn’t actually a home. It was a safe house of sorts, a place where their killer could stash supplies or maybe experiment on his victims before taking their lives in the peace and quiet of a suburban neighborhood. Or maybe he’d bought it for tax reasons.

Still, she hoped sneaking a look inside would give her a hint as to the killer’s identity. Or other locations. Or future victims. But she’d barely taken a step when she heard a near-silent noise behind her, one she wouldn’t have caught at all had she not been subconsciously expecting it ever since leaving her own apartment.

She turned around, and there he was: Matt, horns and all.

“You followed me?” she demanded.

He felt mildly affronted. “I found this place on my own. The house is empty, by the way.”

“Doesn’t mean there’s not evidence in there we could use. Clues. _Something_.”

He stepped in close, right in her personal space. “You are _not_ breaking and entering.”

She lifted her chin. “Oh, but you will?”

He hesitated. “We’ll put your research together to give to Brett. It should be enough for a warrant to search the house.”

“Seriously? You’re okay with bringing Brett in _now?_ Just to stop me from getting involved?”

“Even if we find evidence, we’ll have to give it to Brett eventually,” Matt argued.

“You and I both know we’re not gonna wait around for the police to catch up and do their jobs,” Karen shot back. “Not when people’s lives are at stake. Not when _Foggy’s_ life is at stake.”

“Fine. So I’ll go. You wait here.”

She laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Then several things happened in rapid succession.

She took a deliberate step towards the house.

He grabbed her wrist.

She spun around and slapped his arm. Right over the bullet hole.

Pain like a blinding white light flashed through his brain, this time with no adrenaline to dull it. He gasped and, as soon as air returned to his lungs, exhaled a word he’d never dare to say in front of Sister Maggie.

Karen’s eyes widened. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No,” he lied—idiotically, clutching his arm. “That’s not the—”

“What happened?” She was now lightly holding into his arm on either side of where she’d slapped him. “The suit’s not cut at all, so—” She paled in the dim light. “Is something _broken?_ ”

He carefully, carefully pulled his arm free. “You can’t hunt a serial killer alone.”

“You can’t go hunt a serial killer when you’re _actively bleeding!_ ”

She folded her arms across her chest. “What’re you gonna do, chain me to a chair somewhere?”

Matt swore again, a sure sign he was running out of logical arguments.

Karen made a little noise of triumph at that.

He regrouped in an instant. “And how do you expect to keep _me_ from going out again? I’m not gonna stop until I’ve found this guy.”

Karen glared. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

**Author's Note:**

> This took longer than I meant to start because I got caught up in trivial things like "setup" and "plot" smh. In other news, I'm too hooked on the Prodigal Son fandom to ignore the chance to put a serial killer in Hell's Kitchen. ;)
> 
> Also, this is my first time in years trying my hand at something verging on the concept of "distantly amused and omniscient narrator." Idk, it just felt appropriate? We'll see how it goes.


End file.
